“How far along was she?”
Juanita twisted the pen in her fingers and appeared to consider the question. “I believe I estimated six weeks, probably based on the date of her last period. She was supposed to come back for the vaginal exam. I could look up her file, but, as you can see”—she waved her hands over her desk—“I’m little overwhelmed at the moment.”
CJ shook her head. That wasn’t really her concern. “Did she mention to you or any of the other staff who the father was?”
Juanita cocked her head. “Are you seriously askingthatquestion?”
CJ blinked. “Yes. There’s a murder investigation, and—”
“Maybe you’re in denial,” Juanita interrupted, “but your sister spent most of her nights working the streets as a hooker.” She held up a hand when CJ would have blasted her. “Fortunately, she’d started cleaning up her act. She’d been drug-free for nearly two months. And she was clean, no STDs. She was a work in progress. I’m not judging; I’m simply making an honest statement.”
CJ moistened her lips, tamped down the emotion swelling in her throat. Emotion aside, she recognized that Juanita had a point.
“The father could have been any one of a number of men.” She lifted her linebacker shoulders and let them fall. “She didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask. Most of the young women who come in here are working girls. I test them, treat what ails them, and don’t ask questions. They don’t talk.”
“Could she ...” CJ worked at steadying her voice. “Could she have talked to anyone else here?”
Juanita opened her arms wide. “I’m it, Patterson. The clinic staff begins and ends with me right now. Both the nurse and the receptionist quit a week ago. I shouldn’t even be operating this clinic without one orboth, but then the folks here go without medical attention.” She braced her elbows atop the stack of files. “Maybe you’ve forgotten how it is around here since you landed that prestigious residency at Hopkins.”
Now the real issue surfaced. Juanita Lusk was jealous. Did she have nothing better to do than to keep up with a former classmate’s career? What was wrong with this woman? CJ’s sister was dead!
“I’m sure you won’t mind if I see her chart.”
A guard went up as visibly as if Juanita had pushed CJ out of her office and slammed the door. “What does her chart have to do with her murder?”
CJ shook her head. “Nothing. I just wanted some insight—”
“Whatever. I’ll dig it up. Obviously I have nothing better to do.” She pushed to her feet. “Just give me a minute. I don’t think I filed Friday’s charts.”
“Thank you.”
CJ rubbed at her forehead. A long-overdue headache was brewing. No sleep, no decent food, way too much caffeine. And Braddock. A recipe for trouble.
While she waited, CJ surveyed the office. Juanita was right. She was way behind on paperwork. If she was running this clinic alone even for one week, she had to be overwhelmed. CJ moved closer to the wall where her credentials hung. University of Alabama in Birmingham. Surprise flared at what she didn’t see.
“That’s right,” Juanita said from the door.
Feeling like she’d just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, CJ turned to face her.
“I didn’t getMDbehind my name.” Juanita shoved the chart at CJ. “I had to settle for being a nurse practitioner. Which means I do all the grunt work and people like you get all the glory.”
CJ wanted to ask what had happened, but she was pretty sure Juanita wouldn’t want to discuss it with her. What could she say:I’m sorryorSucks for you?
“I have a son,” Juanita explained as if she’d read CJ’s mind. “He needed me. Try surviving your residency with a baby on your hip.”
Wow. Even surviving nursing school with a kid had to be tough. Tack on the additional requirements for practitioner and that was saying something. “How old is your son?”
She hesitated, then said, “Nine.”
“Pictures?” CJ knew the interest on her face looked fake, but it was the best she could do.
“I don’t think you seriously want to see a picture of my kid.” Juanita settled behind her desk once more. “Look at the chart. I have work to do.”
CJ skimmed Shelley’s medical chart. Nothing she hadn’t expected. Shelley had been in several times for STDs. Tests to ensure she did or didn’t have one or more on different occasions. A follow-up to the concussion and fracture she’d gotten from that worthless asshole Banks just over a month ago. Same old Shelley. Lab results from last week. CJ didn’t know what she’d expected to find, but she hadn’t found it.
She passed the chart back to Juanita. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” She tossed it onto the pile of others.
